


Begin Again

by Fihyn



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, Happy Ending, Imperial Aligned Dragonborn, Kodlak lives, Let's Play, Multi, Paarthurnax lives, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-09 12:52:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7802596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fihyn/pseuds/Fihyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She'd never really thought she'd someday set foot in her homeland, but once she had, she knew she could build a new life for herself, become a better person. This story follows the Dragonborn as she carves out her identity, confronts her past, and finds courage, love, and perhaps even happiness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Helgen

What woke her, oddly enough, wasn’t the rattling of the carriage or the hushed voices of the men around her. It was a bit of snow, jostled free from the branches above them as the procession passed underneath. She woke with a start as the cold slush spattered onto her exposed neck, jerked upright and tried to regain her bearings as she looked around in bewilderment.  
Her wrists were bound together and she was dressed in rags, the cold wind whipping through them and cutting down to her bones. Shaking like a leaf, she raised her eyes and locked gazes with a blond man sitting in military garb across from her. His blue eyes were piercing and curious.  
“Hey, you. You’re finally awake.”  
Temporarily dizzied by the downward tilting of the cart - she realized they were traveling down a wide, paved road - she failed to answer immediately, so the man continued,  
“You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush. Same as us. And that thief over there.”  
Border? Ambush? Thief? What — oh, yes, there were two more men in the back of the carriage with them. One was also dressed in rags and the other in armor like that of the speaker. This forth man was different from the rest of them, however, as he was gagged, his stern eyes smoldering angrily.  
The one named as a thief spat, “Damn you Stormcloaks. Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn’t been looking for you, I could have stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell.”

As the thief began to speak, she began to think back over previous events. Yes, it was true she had been near the border of Skyrim and Cyrodiil, but she hadn’t been trying to cross it. She had been with her caravan, not as a peddler herself, but because she had been traveling with them ever since she was very young. She was snapped back to the present as the thief began addressing her directly.  
“You there - you and me - we shouldn’t be here! It’s these Stormcloaks the Empire wants.”  
“Well we’re all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief.” The first man shot back, his impatience rising.

Suddenly, the thoughts swirling about her head coalesced, her confusion clearing. They’d been arrested! She was a prisoner along with a thief, and rebels against the empire. But why? She was innocent!   
Biting back tears, she raised her eyes to the man with the blond hair and blue eyes again, but felt unable to speak. He met her gaze and seemed concerned; his expression taking on that familiar look of pity that she’d often taken advantage of in opportune moments. She was small, so very small for her 22 years, and had a bearing much like a child. As first an orphan, then a beggar, and finally a caravan servant, she had mostly depended on the pity of others for necessities like shelter and food. But this man who now looked on her was not her jailer but a fellow prisoner, and could do nothing for her. She returned her eyes to her feet and tried to quell the panic rising up inside her.

The men continued to speak, and through listening to their exchange, she learned a little more about what awaited them. The gagged man sitting next to her was the leader of the rebellion and, having captured him, their final destination was surely the chopping block. She retreated mentally further into herself and refused to look at or acknowledge the other prisoners lest she become overwhelmed with terror, but the thief had no such qualms as he began crying out to the Divines for their rescue.

She knew that there had been a rebellion in Skyrim, which was technically her native land as her parents had both been Nords, but she herself had never set foot in the country before now. With the realization that this would be her last day, her last breaths, her last view of the blue sky and the green earth, she couldn’t really bring herself to be curious about the land she’d heard so much about, and yet never seen. She let the tears come, roll down her thin and grimy cheeks as she stared at the binds around her wrists. It wouldn’t matter that she was innocent. There was no protest she could make in her defense, no witness to attest to her blamelessness. She would die here, never having the opportunity to live the happy life she’d always dreamed of living.

As the carriage drew to a stop and the prisoners rose to climb out, she was dimly aware of the thief, from Rorikstead he had claimed, continuing to beg for his life and plead his innocence. She knew it would be useless; the rebels had been quite a thorn in the side of the empire for some time now, and the empire was surely eager to end it as quickly as possible. They wouldn’t have an interest in separating the rebels from the other criminals.  
But the man was so afraid, he broke away from the group and ran for his life. A call for archers, and he fell, dead in his desperate flight.

She jumped back, a soft gasp breaking from her before she could stop it, and a fresh surge of tears streamed down her face. Her life had, truthfully, never been wonderful, but she had overcome the worst of her struggles long ago, and she always had had hope for the future. All she could think now… _Please I don’t want to die. Please don’t let me die, I don’t want to die, I don’t want to —_

“Wait! You there, step forward.”  
She turned to a man holding a list and a quill as he looked her over with something akin to horror. And yes, there was the pity again. She tried not to let hope surge within her. She felt in her heart that his pity surely wouldn’t be enough.  
“Who are you?”  
Somehow, she found her voice, trembling though it was. “Loelya. My name is Loelya.”  
"You picked a bad time to come home to Skyrim, kinsman. I'm sorry. At least you'll die here, in your homeland."  
She thought, ruefully, that she had just been resenting that very fact.

The man turned, and spoke to the woman standing at his right shoulder.  
“Captain, what should we do? She’s not on the list.”  
The Captain snorted. “Forget the list. She goes to the block.”

There it was, and with a few words all hope was erased. She tried to compose her thoughts, tried to face her death with what little dignity she could muster, but rather than feeling brave, she just felt… hollow. Suddenly the world began to lose its color around her and the parts of her that she’d always cherished felt like they were slipping away.

The general, General Tulius as the Captain had addressed him, launched into a speech directed at the gagged prisoner, Jarl Ulfric.  
“Ulfric Stormcloak, some here in Helgen call you a hero. But a hero doesn't use a power like the voice to murder his king and usurp his throne. You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos, and now the Empire is going to put you down and restore the peace!”

Everything was fading to the background. She saw the Priestess coming forward, saw one of her fellow prisoners stride confidently to the block and lay out his neck for the headsman. He seemed almost eager to die. And, suddenly, came a noise like thunder that everyone paused to listen to, to question…  
No, it wasn’t quite like thunder. Rougher, courser, but just as loud and booming. What was..

But, no, it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. It was her turn. Her turn.  
She lifted her eyes just briefly to lock glances once more with the man who had tried to spare her, just long enough to see the pity that couldn’t save her in his gaze, as she crossed the courtyard and knelt down, her breath coming in gasps, feeling like her life was already draining away.

Almost without meaning to, she laid her head down, thinking for a moment that it was like going to sleep, but she didn’t close her eyes.  
_Close your eyes._ She thought. _Close them. It will be just like going to sleep…_  
…..  
…  
..

“WHAT IN OBLIVION IS THAT!”  
The shout from the general caused her to immediately open her eyes once more, and in her terrified view, a dark, scaly shadow swooped down to land on the tower across from the block. Its red eyes glowed with hatred and its booming voice filled the sky, sending fire raining down. A shockwave shook the earth and knocked the headsman aside just as he began the downward swing that would have ended her life.  
The same force sent her tumbling back as well, but she ground her fists into the dirt, trying to find purchase, trying to shake the blurry edges from her vision.

“Come on, get up!”  
Someone was shouting at her. Ralof? She had heard his name from the list, before, and finally she could give a name to those sharp blue eyes.  
“Come on, the Gods aren’t going to give us another chance!”  
His hand was extended to her, and before she knew it, she had grasped it and been hauled to her feet. They ran for their lives, not looking back as the dark shadow terrorized and burned the village around them. A word, a name for the shadow bounced around inside her mind, but it took all of her focus to hold it down, to grasp it.  
_A dragon?_

They ducked inside a small tower, already crumbling from the force of the attack, but it would cover them momentarily while they caught their breath and grasped the disaster before them.  
She fell, stumbling to the foot of the stairs while she tried to suck air into her lungs, already stinging from the smoke. Dirt covered her hands, her face, her bare feet. The rags offered little in the way of protection.

"Jarl Ulfric! What is that thing? Could the legends be true?"  
Ulfric, who before now had been unable to speak, turned to his fellow soldier and in a strong, authoritative tone, replied, "Legends don't burn down villages.”  
   
Something about his words resonated in her mind, and feeling as though she’d been swept off to another reality while her mind struggled to catch up, she startled as Ralof surged forward, grasping her shoulder and pushing her up the stairs.  
“We need to move, now! Up through the tower, let’s go!”

The rough stones scraped her bare feet as she ran, but run she did, and left her confusing thoughts behind to deal with later. She couldn’t savor her newfound freedom if she didn’t survive the dragon.  
That very creature now broke through onto the second floor, spraying fire and ash from its gaping maw, as words foreign to her ripped through the air and ignited it. She and Ralof threw themselves against the stone, bracing against it until the dragon pulled back and flew away.  
His hand was still inexplicably resting on her shoulder, though as he pulled it back she supposed it was due to her appearance. No doubt he was trying to protect whom he thought to be a child. Briefly, guilt flickered in her thoughts even though she hadn’t actually lied to anyone, not intentionally. She supposed she should feel grateful, but her heart had no room, so filled as it was with fear and confusion.

“Right, see the inn on the other side?” And now Ralof was pointing, and she turned to see where exactly he wanted her to look. “Jump through the roof and keep going! We’ll follow when we can!”  
What? She blinked at him. He couldn’t be serious. But all he did was give her a firm nod and rush back down the stairs.  
Jump?… she gripped the jagged bricks with her toes and crouched, then launched through the air, tumbling forwards as her feet made contact with the splintered wood.  
And again, she was running.

The sky was raining brimstone. The villagers around her screamed, their terror palpable, and she was seized with a nearly overwhelming urge to cover her ears, to block out the sounds of nightmares. But she ran, staggering across the scorched earth with bruised and bloodied feet.   
And then the man with the list was before her and yelling at her.  
“Still alive, prisoner? Stay close to me if you want to stay that way!”  
A small part of her mind that was strangely absent with reason protested, _Why would you ask my name if you weren’t going to use it?_ but she clamped down on that moment of absurdity and followed him closely.  
After narrowly escaping the fire and the very teeth of the dragon itself, they fled towards the keep, where the man seemed to think they’d be safe, at least for the moment.   
She caught a glimpse of Ralof again, heard him and the man behind her shout angrily at one another, and then she was swept past the heavy wooden door and heard it bolt shut behind her.

For one long, sweet moment, everything was silent. She took a deep breath, then another. Her ears were ringing, and her eyes watering from the smoke. Her limbs were trembling. Her rescuer listened at the door for a moment before speaking. “Looks like we’re the only ones that made it. Was that really a dragon? Bringer of the end times?”  
She looked up at the man as he turned and held her gaze gently. “We should keep moving. Come here. Let me see if I can get those bindings off.” He slid a small blade into his hand.  
She hesitated, then moved forward, and he carefully cut the ropes. Her wrists came away bleeding, and he looked sorrowfully at her. “Loelya. Pretty name.”  
“Thank you.” Her voice was hoarse from the burning air. She wiped the dust from her hands and brushed her fingertips across the abrasions on her arms, hissing under her breath at the searing sensation.  
“My name is Hadvar.” He informed her, then immediately questioned, “How old are you?”  
“22.”  
“Can’t be. You’re barely taller than my cousin, and she's 12.”  
She inclined her head. “I’ve always been small.”  
“Yes.. well. I have to wonder what you could have done that would’ve necessitated your capture.” He didn’t bother to mask his skepticism.  
She decided to answer him, after all, he had saved her life.  
“I was near the border when your soldiers ambushed the rebels. I wasn’t trying to cross it, I didn’t even know there were soldiers there. I’ve lived in Cyrodiil all my life, but I was near the border with my caravan. I was actually searching for a stream to collect water for our journey back to the Imperial city.”  
Hadvar’s eyes clouded. “You were innocent then? Why didn’t you say anything?”  
She gazed back at him, sadly, steadily. “Would anyone have listened?”  
He sighed, then laughed dismally. “You’re right. I suppose they wouldn’t have. Anyway, now that we’re here, you might try searching these chests for some gear.”  
Loelya turned then, to gaze around the room now that her eyes had adjusted to the dimness. There were beds along both walls, each accompanied by a chest. A hallway led out of the room behind them before turning a corner. She looked back to Hadvar.  
“I’ve never lifted a sword in my life.”  
“I believe it. But you’ll be safer with some armor anyway, and better to have a sword and not need it than be caught without one.”

A quick search of the room and she had new boots on her feet, a light but strong cuirass resting on her shoulders, and a helmet of the same material protecting her head and neck. Clumsily, she slid an iron sword into the sheath on her hip, and turned to face Hadvar as he led the way into the hallway.  
   
“Ready?” He asked. “Come on, then.”

The hallway opened to a gate that led into a round room. Hadvar held up his hand and they both froze as they heard voices on the other side. Three people from the sounds of it, all out of breath, all terrified and yet slightly bewildered at the presence of the dragon.  
“Hear that? Stormcloaks. Maybe we can reason with them.” Hadvar whispered as he lifted the gate. Raising his voice to be heard across the room, he spread his hands in supplication towards the rebel soldiers as he entreated, “Hold on now, we only want to-“  
Whatever reassurance Loelya felt in the face of Hadvar’s diplomacy was erased as the Stormcloaks’ expressions twisted with hatred and all three drew their weapons. The following moments descended into a madness where reason and logic had no place, only reaction.  
Iron and steel clashed as Hadvar drew his sword and fended off two of the soldiers while the third charged for Loelya, warhammer held high. Without thinking she drew the sword hanging at her waist, then was driven back, her borrowed boots scraping along the stone floor, the weapon suddenly wrenched from her grasp.

Hadvar turned, swearing under his breath and wiping sweat from his brow as he delivered the killing blow to his second assailant, having dispatched the first moments before. He located the girl, white as snow and trembling. Her hands were slightly extended and shaking in front of her, the third rebel impaled on her sword and dead at her feet. With a sinking feeling, registering the look of trauma on her face, he realized what must have happened. Sending a quick protest of _Why me?_ heavenwards towards the Divines, he strode over, retrieved the sword and folded one of her hands around it. Her hollow eyes were intensely focused on a point beyond the room itself.  
“Never killed anyone before?”  
No answer.  
“Hey, look at me.”  
No movement.  
Resigning himself to the inevitable, he placed a hand on her cheek and turned her face toward himself. She startled, her eyes suspiciously shiny.  
“Listen to me. I know you’re going through a lot right now. But we don’t have the luxury of taking this slowly. Out there, right outside those doors, a dragon, a creature of legend, is tearing apart this city. A lot of people will die today, and you have to decide that you aren't going to be one of them.”  
He saw her swallow and take a deep breath but he pressed on, “The rebels aren’t going to think twice about killing you either if they think you’re a threat. We can try to reason with them, but that’s _all_ we can do. If they force our hand, it’s either them or us. And we have to make sure it’s us.”  
A tiny nod. She was coming back, the color returning to her face.  
“I know you think you can’t be a fighter, but you have to be. I want to make it out of here too. And I can only do that if you’re ready to defend yourself, and me if it comes to it. Can you do that? Can I count on you?”  
As he hoped it would, this brought a stronger resolve to her expression. She grasped the sword more tightly and returned it to the sheathe on her belt. She lifted her head and breathed deeply, wiping the moisture from her eyes. “Yes. I can do this.”  
“Of course you can. Come on. Let me see if I can get this door open.” He gave her a moment longer to collect herself, then turned and walked away, sighing in relief as she fell into step behind him.


	2. Unbound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I do not want to die who I am. I would like to live long enough to become someone else."_

Their footsteps echoed against the stone walls as they came to a wide staircase spiraling deeper into the ground. The firelight glinted off the metal fastenings on Hadvar’s armor, and Loelya watched the bright spots dance back and forth with his hurried jog. Trying to focus, she stopped on the next corner and stared into the flames of the torch mounted there.

Sensing she was no longer at his heels, Hadvar turned from where he’d halted at the base of the stairs. His brow furrowed and he opened his mouth to say something, but a terrible sound, somewhere between a screech and a roar, tore through the ceiling, which crumbled under the force of the bellow. The ground itself shook, forcing them both to their knees.  
As the debris settled and they both coughed to force the dust from their lungs, Hadvar lurched to his feet again, the exertion showing in his grimace.

“Damn! That dragon doesn’t give up easy!” Suddenly he fell quiet as two voices sounded beyond the door they were now crouched behind.  
“What are you doing? We need to get out of Helgen, now!”  
“Hang on, the Imperials have some potions in here. We’re going to need them.”

Loelya found herself pinned by Hadvar’s worried frown, and abruptly he was herding her back past the torchlight and into the dimness of the stairway.  
“Okay look at me.” Came his hushed whisper. “Take out your sword.”  
As soon as it was in her hand, his fingers were prying at hers. “Not so tightly. You’ll make more mistakes if you keep a death grip on it. Bend your knees. Any kind of weaponry requires movement. You can’t just stand in one place. Block with the flat of the blade.”  
For several moments, Hadvar rapidly fired off several of the most basic wielding techniques, then motioned to her to move quietly as they approached the door.

As before, the reaction was instantaneous as they swung it open and entered the room; the two rebels snarling angrily as they drew their weapons. Loelya obediently hung back as Hadvar had instructed, until one of them turned his back to her. Still, she might not have been able to manage the swing that ended his life if his own sword hadn’t been poised just above her ally’s neck.  
It wasn’t a clean kill, but at least Hadvar was still in one piece.

Still, she couldn’t stop herself from trembling as blood spattered her blade and her hands.

Moving past, Hadvar looked her over, before softly placing a hand on her head. “That was good. You did a good job.” He removed his hand and thus his comfort, but Loelya gathered his words closely in her mind and held onto them for sanity. “This is an old storeroom,” he continued. “See if you can find some potions, they might come in handy.”

Mercifully, this broke the fog that was beginning to cloud her mind again. She looked up sharply and Hadvar sighed in relief to see the light return to her eyes. “Potions?”

“Can be used in a pinch if you’re badly injured and there’s not a healer nearby. Stamina potions will help keep you alert and stave off exhaustion if you’re doing a lot of fighting. Magika.. I’m sure it helps wizards in some manner. Never used one myself.”

Her eyes were glowing. “I used to see potions in the windows of the alchemy shop back home. I’ve never had enough for one but I’ve heard stories about how they can instantly heal injuries.”  
Her companion chuckled and shook his head. “Well, help yourself. But we need to get moving quickly.”

She turned and surveyed the room. Lining the room were various shelves, two tables laid with eating utensils, plates, and bowls of salt. Large and small sacks were piled up in one corner. Freshly killed rabbits and pheasants hung above a fireplace that still burned. It was obvious the previous occupants had left in a hurry. 

Picking up one of the smaller sacks, Loelya tore out the seam on one side and tied a knot over the hole. Looping the corded seam over her shoulder as a makeshift strap, she darted around the room, locating some small bottles containing potions and loading them into her bag. Almost as an afterthought, she also scooped up the remaining half of a freshly baked loaf of bread and an apple sitting out on one of the tables. Lastly, she went to the second table where a few pieces of gold rested, and swept them into her hand, with a distant look of wonder in her eyes as though she’d never had money in her life. All of this took only a few minutes, and she rejoined Hadvar at the far side of the room.

“Done then?” He motioned with his hand. “Let’s go, this way.”

Through the hallway, and down a small set of steps, it wasn’t long before they began to hear sounds of people shouting.  
Hadvar winced, then whispered under his breath. “The torture room. Gods, I wish we didn’t need these.”

A torture room? Loelya recoiled from the thought. She wasn’t unfamiliar with them, but had never imagined that the military would use them. She’d always thought of a torture room as more of a last resort option for the worst sorts of people. Apparently, she’d thought wrong. But as they came into the chamber, they realized the shouts came not from individuals being tortured, but from soldiers in the midst of combat. More Stormcloaks were fighting two imperial-clad men, and Hadvar quickly joined in. Loelya hung back until the fighting had ceased, and the rebels lay dead on the floor.

Her stomach turned, and she swallowed hard, but she tried not to look at the blood pooling under them. She focused her attention on what the men were saying. 

“You happened along just in time. These boys seemed a bit.. upset at how I’ve been entertaining their comrades.”

The utter arrogance and indifference of his tone, coupled with the realization that he must be the torturer in charge of the prisoners, raised fury in Loelya’s mind and heart that she only managed to keep hidden by years of experience suppressing her emotions. Perhaps it wasn’t her place to make judgements, as it wasn’t her war, but she quickly decided that the Imperials must not all be as trustworthy as Hadvar.

Fortunately, Hadvar snapped back, clearly also exasperated and echoing her sentiments, “Don’t you even know what’s going on? A dragon is attacking Helgen!”

This brought the torturer up short. “A dragon? Please, don’t make up nonsense.” Loelya hadn’t realized she’d stepped forward, visibly seething, until Hadvar’s arm raised to block her path. She stopped immediately, looking up sheepishly at his amused expression, but the torturer carried on as though he hadn’t noticed their exchange. “Although come to think of it, I have been hearing odd noises.”

Hadvar sheathed his sword, still bloody from the battle, and urged, “Come with us. We need to get out of here.”

“You have no authority over me, boy.”

The guard, who had remained silent throughout the conversation, finally spoke up, saying “Forget the old man, I’ll come with you.”

“All right.” Hadvar turned to leave the room, then stopped, turning to Loelya by his side. “Wait, it looks like there’s something in that cage over there. See if you can get it open with some picks.” He dropped some small metal tools into her hand that he snatched from a nearby table. “We’ll need everything we can get.”

Bewildered, Loelya opened her mouth to speak but Hadvar simply gave her a gentle push towards the cages lining the wall, clearly not intending to hear any objections. She sighed and got to her knees in front of the barred door that he had indicated, ignoring the snide remark from the torturer as she did so. She’d never picked a lock before, so it took a moment to figure out how to even get the pick _into_ the lock. Her face burned with embarrassment as the first pick snapped in her incapable fingers and someone, probably the torturer, tutted disapprovingly behind her.  
Quickly she brushed out the broken pick and inserted another, rotating the delicate strip of metal much more carefully. Soon she felt the tip slide further inwards, realizing that she’d found the weak point in the tumbler, and gave it a sharp jerk. The lock clacked open and the rusty door swung outwards on creaky hinges.

Jumping to her feet in exultation, Loelya swept her gaze back to Hadvar, who was again was looking on her with deep amusement. She quickly lost her smile, hoping that he didn’t think her foolish, and turned back to step into the cage.  
Instantly, all joviality left her as her eyes came to rest on a dead wizard, deceased minutes before, rigor mortis having yet to set into the body. Taking a moment to grit her teeth, she shakily knelt beside the man and reached into the bag at his side. She pulled out the potions she found there, as well as a book with a strange rune on the cover. Not taking time to open it, she slid her new things into her sack and looped it back over her shoulders. Hesitating only a moment longer, she unclasped the hood from the stranger’s clothes, shuddering as she did so, and also stuffed it away. The threadbare surface glowed with enchantment, meaning she could probably trade it later, maybe for food or a place by a traveler’s fire. The robes themselves had the same glow, but she simply didn’t have the nerve to undress the dead man. Finally, she stood up and followed after Hadvar quickly, who had just turned to head deeper into the keep. The guard left his post to accompany them.

“There’s no way out that way you know!” Came an exasperated shout from behind them, but they all ignored it and pressed ahead.

The inner hallways were dilapidated from disuse; cobwebs hung wispily in every corner, and dust billowed away from their hurried footsteps. Disturbing piles of bones rested in cages strung from the ceilings, and the untended basin fires offered little in the way of light or clarity. The air was stale with the smell of grime and ash.

The far wall of the room they entered had been deconstructed, jagged patches of stone and brick opening up to a wide cavern. A fresh breeze of cool, humid air rolled over them and Loelya took in a grateful breath, only to gag suddenly as the strong, metallic scent of blood assaulted her senses. Yet another skirmish, this time including many men from both sides. Imperials and Stormcloaks swarmed the room, hacking away at each other and bathing the cobbled stones in gore.

Darting and leaping around the felled bodies as she tried to keep pace with Hadvar, she felt disgust and disdain towards these men rise in her heart. Could they not see past their own grievances long enough to escape a greater threat? If nothing else, surely either side would want to carry news of the dragon attack back to their respective generals? Maybe she didn’t know much about war, or about the deep hatred for an enemy that could force all logic from a person’s mind; but surely someone would see the sense in escaping the dragon, the very thing that legends of the end times told of, above bringing down the equally terrified soldiers of their enemy?

Suddenly the floor became slick beneath her swift strides and she went down hard, throwing out her arms at the last moment to catch herself but still banging her chin hard enough to taste blood. Dazed from the pain, she sat up slowly, sliding her hand across the slippery stones and peering closely at her fingertips. _Oil? Covering the floor?_ She glanced up and just across from her, a torch burned brightly on the wall. The idea struck, she scrambled to her feet, seized the flaming sconce and hurled it towards the pool of dark, shiny liquid. Instantly it caught, and blazed, driving her back with the force of its heat and blinding her momentarily with it’s brilliance.

No soldiers were caught within the blaze itself, but plenty were so distracted that they disregarded their opponents long enough to stare, and swiftly met their end. Hadvar, of course was no such fool, and quickly gained the upper hand against his assailants. Others simply scattered, the last threads of their resolve snapping as they turned heel to run. Within a few moments, Hadvar and Loelya were once again the last ones standing, the guard from before having lost his life to a stray swing of the enemy’s sword.

Breathing hard, Hadvar wiped the sweat from his brow and rinsed his blade in the waters of the small stream trickling through the area. Re-sheathing his sword, he straightened up, his eyes coming to rest on Loeyla across the room. She was sitting against the wall, taking shaky breaths, but otherwise in one piece. Noticing his gaze, she quickly rose to her feet, dusting off her hands as she rose.  
Inwardly, Hadvar was encouraged. She might have appeared helpless at first, but now he could see that she was resourceful and a quick thinker. She might not have much skill for battle, but those abilities could always be trained. Wondering if she might make a good ally for the Legion, he made a mental note to suggest it to her later, plant the seed. In the meantime, though, he could help her train if she was willing… But then she was there, by his side, waiting for further instructions, her eyes wide and trusting and he stopped himself. For now they simply had to make it out alive. After that, they could talk. 

“All right, Let’s see if we can find a way out.” He found himself saying. The next corridor loomed, dark but promising, and he beckoned to her, leading the way. “Let’s see where this goes.”

The “this” in question happened to be a large bridge, held upright by supports that connected to a large lever in the floor. Dimly, candles flickered around them, illuminating the small alcove but not much beyond it. Bending down, he grasped the handle and pulled, grunting in satisfaction when the gears released and the bridge fell forward, opening their path.

Loelya stepped hesitantly forward, gaining confidence as she crossed the bridge. It was clearly sturdy, despite the way it creaked underfoot. The bricks of the keep gave way to the naturally formed walls of subterranean stone, and the river flowing below them bubbled its clear and calming notes. Moments after Hadvar stepped down behind her, the stone walls crumbled and fell with a mighty crash, throwing rubble in every direction. The sound reverberated, shattering the stillness of the air, forcing several moments of silence between them before Hadvar swore in exasperation. 

“ _Damn it!_ No going back that way. I guess we’re lucky that didn’t come down on top of us.” 

Loelya nodded, relief flooding her veins when she realized what they’d very narrowly escaped. Then she froze, thinking of the other soldiers still trapped inside. Hadvar seemed to read her mind as he interjected, “We’d better push on. I’m sure the others will find another way out.” 

Sunlight, real and welcoming, was streaming through a hole in the ceiling of the cavern. The promise of freedom and safety being so close had her steeling her resolve, taking deep breaths and determinedly continuing. With the threat of the dragon now less immediate, buried behind a thick barrier of felled stone and earth, she allowed herself to start thinking about what awaited her in the daylight. She wouldn’t go back to the caravan, they’d probably not even notice her missing. The one traveler among them who had cared for her had died two years previous. Besides, she was a woman now and she could make her own way. She was no longer a child that had to depend on the scraps of others to get by. She could find work, she could build a life for herself.  

_Freedom._ It was a new concept for her, but one she was quickly and excitedly embracing. Nothing could hold her back now.


	3. Under the Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"We don’t always choose what happens to us, but we can choose to see it as positive, to believe it is for the best, and to use it to grow."_

“Go on, take it. Not like he’s going to need it anymore.”

Hadvar and Loelya were standing at the far end of the cavern, from where they’d escaped the chaotic dragon attack from above ground. They’d thought that by following the river they could reach the surface, but they had had to turn down a drier path when the river had ended abruptly. That’s when Loelya had stopped, and Hadvar turned to see the coin purse on the ledge beside them. Some poor fool’s bones dangled next to it.

He’d picked it up, dislodging a few stray pieces of dirt and gravel, then turned to hand it to Loelya, who had backed away in surprise.  
She held her hands up, cupped together, and he set the tiny bag in her waiting palms. Eyes wide, she slowly undid the fastening and peered inside. 

“How much is it?” Hadvar asked, curious, but was already turning away to follow the downward slope of the path.

“Twelve septims.” Loelya breathed, suddenly thrusting the pouch back towards him. “Here, you should take it.”

He waved her away, shaking his head with a laugh. “I have relatives nearby who can help me if we make it out of here. You’ll need it more.”

She stopped and stared at him, and he found himself unnerved by the look of elation in her eyes. “All of this, for me?”

Hadvar struggled to maintain control of his expression. Twelve septims was barely enough to rent one night’s worth of stay at an inn, and she was acting like he’d just given her a fortune. Though he supposed he should have guessed as much, based on her thin form and meekness. A beggar’s submissiveness had been easy to overlook when she had displayed such will to survive. Still, if she still had such spirit at this age, leading the life he’d begun to suspect, she’d surely do well in Skyrim. The harshness of the land often had a way of bringing out the true nature of people, and he had no doubt she’d find new courage and thrive.

He closed her fingers over the pouch and smiled kindly. “You saw it first, my friend.”

They continued on, but Loelya was beginning to wonder if they really were making progress to the outside, or if they’d just keep traipsing ever further downward under the ground. It was getting dimmer, though there was still the occasional basin fire to light the way. She began to squint into the darkness, her eyesight slow to adjust to the gloom, until Hadvar stopped so suddenly that she ran into him.

He held up a hand in caution as she opened her mouth to blurt an apology, so she held her tongue as she blinked at him in confusion. Then she looked beyond him, where his gaze was resting, and felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Long, sticky webs were strung about the cavern, thick and milky-white, and far larger than anything a normal insect could weave. The stillness of the air hung ominously about them, something clicking faintly in the shadows.

Hadvar gingerly took a step back, thinking to go back and find another way, but the quiet crunch of earth under his feet was enough to send the hellish nightmares, previously out of sight, descending from the ceiling. Loelya shrieked and Hadvar yanked her backwards and drew his sword in one smooth motion.

_Frostbite Spiders!_

She’d heard tales of them, to be sure, but had never believed them to be accurate. Fear has a way of twisting the senses, warping the truth of a memory into something far worse in hindsight, and she’d always attributed the outlandish stories of their size and monstrosity to a simple product of mortal fear. Yet, if anything, the accounts that she’d heard did not capture the full horror of seeing the deadly creatures up close, hearing the grinding of their mouthparts dripping with venom and the skittering of their numerous legs. The two largest ones were taller than bears, the four smaller ones, the size of cattle.

Too many, too much for Hadvar to fight alone.

The grisly scene unfolded for what seemed the better part of an hour, though perhaps it could have been only a few minutes. There was no time to think, yell, or run. There was only their flashing blades; Hadvar’s wielded with experience and purpose, finding the chinks in the exoskeletons of the gargantuan arachnids and cutting deep, Loelya’s frantic slashes far more haphazard, but still effective in their own way due to sheer bewildering speed. The sound was maddening, air whistling past as the sharpness pierced first the air, then sickening crunches as the blades met their targets. They sheared through chitin, spattering strange juices onto their armor and the floor of the cave.

As the last of the vile arthropods lunged at her, Loelya choked on a scream as she raised her weapon in the blink of an eye and caught it directly between its two slavering mandibles. Mindless with hunger, it mutilated itself to death on the sharp edge of her sword as it thrust itself over and over against it, until finally it crumpled into a heap at her feet.

For a moment the two humans could only breathe, gasping against the heavy musk of putrid-smelling air and wiping away the flecks of black blood from their faces. Reeling from the stench, Loelya gave into a coughing fit that had been itching at the back of her throat and Hadvar spat onto the ground, trying to clear a foul taste from his mouth. 

Gradually they stood, giving each other unsteady glances. Before Loelya could burst into tears, Hadvar offered her a wry grin and remarked sarcastically, “What’s next, giant snakes?”

And despite the terrifying image those words could have wrought, suddenly she was laughing and he was joining in, a palpable relief at having survived the onslaught making them giddy and momentarily wiping away the fear of what could lay head, and the weariness of what was already behind them.

To break up the monotony of their lengthening trek into the underground, Hadvar struck up a conversation as they continued on, noting with satisfaction that their path had once again twisted to cross the river. The gentle sounds of the coursing water eased their frayed nerves and seemed to flow with the echoes of their voices.

“What will you do after we get out of here?” he inquired companionably as they picked their way across a natural bridge and then turned to follow the river downstream. “Did you say you were traveling with a caravan?”

“I’m not going back.” The young woman answered softly. “I’ve been with them since I was a child, but there’s nothing really for me there. I thought maybe…” Loelya trailed off, looking lost in thought, and Hadvar smiled gently.

“You could start a new life in Skyrim?” He finished and she looked startled. “Don’t give me that look. I saw the wheels turning in your head earlier, when it first began to look like we might actually make it out alive. For what it’s worth, I say you’d do well to forge your own path here. It is your homeland after all.” He paused, then asked hesitantly, hoping not to offend, “Your family, are they-“

“Dead.” Loelya answered for him, and as his expression grew apologetic, she shook her head. “No, it’s okay, I don’t mind. It’s been a very long time and I-“ She stopped, looked embarrassed, then continued. “I don’t really remember what happened to them. It’s all a bit… blurry in my mind. I must have been very young when it happened. But at least I know a thing or two about looking out for myself.”

He nodded, seeing the sense in that. “Do you know any trades?”

She chuckled, then shrugged. “I know a little of smithing, very, very little. Carving is what I used to do as an apprentice. I worked for a toy peddler at the caravan. It was very simple work, but I enjoyed it as much as one can. He died not too long ago, so there really is nothing for me to go back to.”

“My uncle,” Hadvar cut in excitedly, “Is the blacksmith in the town nearest to here. Riverwood it’s called, and that’s where I was planning to head. I’m sure he’d be willing to help you out too. Maybe he’d be willing to let you earn a little extra coin, if you wanted to help out around the forge.”

Loelya smiled, hopeful and nodded. “I’d like that. It will be a place to start, at least.”

Their conversation trailed off as a distant rushing sound began to grow louder. Eventually they came across a waterfall, the loud cascading of water echoing off the stone walls of the cave and drowning out the bubbling of the calm river. Just ahead a last, lone basin fire glowed warmly, illuminating the path for a few feet and showing the rickety remains of a forgotten wooden cart. The ceiling was high and fissured, allowing sunlight to filter down through the dusty air and giving them hope that maybe, finally, they would soon come to the surface.

Abruptly Hadvar dropped into a crouch, and Loelya mimicked him before asking what was happening. He pointed over her shoulder, to a mound of fur slumbering in a circle of sunlight and she gasped slightly as he began to whisper. “Hold up. There’s a bear just up ahead. See her? I’d rather not tangle with her just now. We might be able to sneak by. Just take it nice and slow, and watch where you step. Or..”  
Loelya looked back at him curiously, prompting, “Or?”  
He frowned thoughtfully, then reached behind his back and unclasped the long bow and sheath strapped to his back. “If you’re feeling lucky, you can take this bow. Might take her by surprise.”

She blinked at him in shock for a moment, then realized he was returning her stare with a measured gaze. Was this a test of some kind? Or was he simply offering her the opportunity to prove herself? She pivoted back to face the path, fingers gripping the bow. Moments later her first arrow was notched and pulled back, aimed steadily at the sleeping beast. She could show Hadvar she was capable of something at least. She’d often had to hunt her own food in the past, and though she wasn’t an expert, she was good enough to hit the mark most of the time. She could-

She stopped.

 _Now isn’t the time to show off._ She berated herself, lowering the arrow and returning it to the sheath. _I could miss, and put us both in danger. Or even if I hit the bear, she’d hardly die from a single arrow. She could charge and-_ Shaking her head, Loelya decided it was probably best to avoid waking the animal if possible. As much as she’d like to demonstrate at least some usefulness, it wouldn’t matter much if her efforts got her companion mauled.

Behind her, where she couldn’t see, Hadvar smiled in relief, with just a hint of pride. She’d done as he’d hoped, and had shown that she was capable of weighing a situation reasonably before barging in. That was the last bit of convincing he needed to encourage her to pay a visit to the Imperial army in Solitude, once they were out.

Once they’d sneaked past, they straightened up and pressed on along the increasingly better-lit path. A jolt of pure anticipation shot through her as Loelya’s boots crunched unexpectedly onto new, fallen snow. The sunlight intensified, glinting off the whiteness and making them squint, but she didn’t care. She was surging towards the opening, scrambling up the slope, eager to at last breathe the fresh air and leave the confusion and panic of the dragon attack behind them.  
When the glare of the light stopped being quite so blinding and they could observe their surroundings, they stopped and stood at the crest of the hill. Hadvar leaned against a boulder, his arms crossed, grinning at her in amusement while she tried to take it all in.

The road sloped downwards and away, through the steep hills dotted with trees and shrubs. The breeze, chilly and laden with the scent of pine and flowers brushed past, shaking the boughs above their heads and sending bits of snow raining down to melt in their hair. A wide river rolled and churned in the distance, glimmering like silver, and the mountains loomed mightily, jutting out of the terrain like frozen monuments.  
It was beautiful, and all so, so new.

A rush of joy, of a sense of freedom and eagerness swept through her, making it all the more jarring when Hadvar’s strong grip descended on her wrist and yanked her to the ground.  
Then she heard the bellowing roar from the sky, and covered her head as the black dragon swooped low over their hiding place and then veered off, flying into the mists of the nearby mountain and disappearing. She shook slightly as they stood again, and Hadvar began to speak, sounding slightly out of breath. “Looks like he’s gone for good this time. But I don’t think we should stick around to see if he comes back.” And Loelya vigorously nodded her agreement.

They set their pace at an easy jog and began down the road, Hadvar steering them towards Riverwood. Loelya felt like she couldn’t soak in enough of the beauty around them, and kept stopping and turning every which way to stare. Hadvar let her, since they weren’t in a hurry and he was struggling to find the words to ask for what he wanted next. When she picked up the pace again at a brisk walk, he broached the topic carefully, knowing her lack of confidence might cause her to reject the idea outright.

“You know, I wouldn’t have made it out of there without your help today.”

The look she sent him was derisive and disbelieving, but as she opened her mouth he cut her off. “I mean it. I’m not being generous. I know you have a lot to learn, but you have good instincts. With training, you could become a skilled warrior.”

Perplexed, she answered slowly, “What are you getting at?”

 _Damn. Perceptive._ “I was just going to suggest,” He ventured, overly casual, “That you might pay a visit to Solitude.”

“Solitude?”

He spent the next few minutes describing the city and where it was, in relation to where they were heading. She listened intently, then comprehension dawned on her face when he mentioned the Imperial Legion.

“You think I should train as a soldier?”

“We could really use someone like you.” He entreated. 

Loelya thought about in silence for a moment while they made their way. “I don’t know. It’s not my war. I know who’s involved,” She hurried to get out as Hadvar began to point out her heritage, “But I haven’t lived here, among them. I’m not sure it’s my place.”

“Just, think about it?”

“I will. And, thank you, for all you did back there too. You didn’t have to help me.” She smiled, a warm and kind thing that he felt encouraged to see. “But you did, and for that I’m very grateful.”

“We’ll just call it even.” He chuckled, relieved to know she didn’t seem to harbor anger against him for her near execution. He suspected that if she were going to hold someone to blame, it would be the captain who’d ordered her to the block, regardless of the absence of her name on the list they carried. And that captain had died during the attack.

Yellow and green ferns brushed against their ankles as they traveled further down the road, towards the river. Just before turning a bend, Loelya stopped very suddenly, and Hadvar sighed, ready to urge her on since they were nearly to the town, but then he stopped too, and smiled broadly when he realized what she’d spotted.

“Ah, the guardian stones!”

“What?”

“These are the guardian stones, three of the thirteen ancient standing stones that dot Skyrim’s landscape.” He explained, gesturing her forward. “Go ahead, see for yourself.”

Loelya stepped hesitantly onto the smooth, stone circle encompassing the monuments, and examined each one carefully. Each a bit taller than a man, they stood with three different disciplines carved out on their crumbling surfaces, with a round hole all the way through, near the top. The one closest to her left depicted a cloaked figure, clutching a purse of gold and brandishing a wicked looking dagger. The next showed a mage, wielding a staff and stirring the air around himself with magic. The last stone showed a warrior, grasping a sword in one hand and a shield in the other, head raised high with courage.

She may not have had much up until this point in her life, but one thing Loelya had always prided herself on was her integrity. She’d gone hungry in the past rather than steal from the pockets of others. And so she turned away from the Thief stone, not even considering it a possibility.  
Something about the Mage stone was troubling. It pricked at her consciousness, stirring something forgotten beneath the surface which, the harder she tried to grasp at it, the further away it slipped and the more unsettled she felt. After a few moments of such fruitless considering, she turned away from that stone as well, pushing away the feelings of wrongness and instead focusing on the warrior stone.

Hadvar hadn’t said anything to sway her decision, but it was easy to tell what he was hoping she’d pick. It took only a moment of thought before she pressed both her hands to the surface of the stone, finding it strangely warm beneath her fingertips.

He sighed with relief, then happily exclaimed, “Warrior, good! I knew you shouldn’t have been on that cart the moment I laid eyes on you.”

This filled her with an unexpected sense of pride as the stone glowed to life. Its hollow lit up like a star, the light beaming into the sky. Something descended on her mind, an insight that hadn’t been there before. Curious, she looked questioningly over at Hadvar who stepped forward to explain. “The stones— they grant the ability to sharpen your learning. It will help immensely if you decide to train yourself, in swordsmanship or other similar skills.”

“How does that work?”

“Well, to be honest, I’m not sure. Most people describe it like an opening of the mind, a heightened receptiveness to new concepts.”

“I would agree.” Loelya murmured softly. “I like it.”

The sun was beginning to hang low in the sky when they came up to the arched entryway of Riverwood. Hadvar touched Loelya’s shoulder and she stopped to listen as he spoke in a low tone.

“Listen, as far as I’m concerned, you’ve already earned your pardon. And I believe you when you say that you’d done nothing wrong to begin with. But until we get that confirmed by General Tulius, stay clear of other imperial soldiers and avoid any complications, all right?”

She nodded solemnly, grateful for the warning.

“All right, good. Things look quiet enough here. Come on, there’s my uncle.” And she followed him as he strode into the town. They’d have to be ready to tell the story of their lives.


	4. Riverwood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Strength does not come in those times when you hit the mark; it comes in those times when you strive to, but miss.”_

Riverwood was beautiful.

That was her first impression as she stood on the expanse of road cutting through the town, only halfway listening as Hadvar first greeted his uncle, then cautioned him to keep his voice down.

Of course, all of what she’d seen so far of the land was beautiful, but this small, unassuming village struck her as particularly… charming.  
The roofs of the houses, the inn, and the general store rose high, thatched securely against the rain and snow. Greenery, of shrubs and small trees, framed the road with lush branches and leaves; ivy grew across the pitted wooden surfaces of the houses. The air, though a bit damp and heavy from the river’s spray, was warmer than it had been in Helgen, and there was no snow on the ground. The nearby lumber mill cast the scent of fresh sawdust on the breeze, and the robust fire of the smithy glowed brightly in the darkening twilight.

“A dragon! I saw a dragon!!”

Loelya snapped out of her reverie when the harsh shout of an old woman rang out, and she spun to look for who had spoken. A young nord man also stopped along the road and glared at the woman who was standing on her porch, peering into the sky as though the dragon would suddenly materialize above them.

“What? What is it now mother?” The man demanded irritably.

“It was as big as the mountain and black as night!” The woman insisted frantically, jabbing a finger in the direction she’d been gazing moments before. “It flew right over the barrow!”

“Dragons now, is it? Please mother, if you keep on like this, everyone in town will think you’re crazy. And I’ve got better things to do than listen to more of your fantasies.”

Annoyed by the demeaning tone the man had used, even if not directed at her, Loelya couldn’t help but wearily muse that he didn’t sound like a very pleasant person. But those thoughts were brushed to the side as she turned to look at the mountain across the river the woman had pointed to.

“You’ll see! It was a dragon! It’ll kill us all and then you’ll believe me.” The woman’s muttering trailed off behind her, and Loelya could only just make out the edges of stone structures built into the mountainside. Imposing and dark, the barrow definitely seemed like the kind of place a dragon might hide, and she shuddered. 

She followed Hadvar inside and smiled gratefully at their hosts, his aunt and uncle. Before she could say anything, they’d both been ensconced in the chairs by the table in front of the fire, and she suddenly felt much safer than she’d felt in a long time.  
The house was spacious and warm, heated by the large fire burning in the hearth. Freshly killed hares were hanging above the flames, and the walls were decorated with mounted elk antlers. Thick furs lined the floors and tickled softly underfoot.

Alvor bore a strong resemblance to his nephew, only differing in his dense facial hair, and would have been intimidating if not for the obvious concern creasing his brow. Sigrid, his wife, was a lithe woman with a dagger on her hip, though her eyes were friendly. Her red hair was tied back and she exclaimed over them as she began ladling rich stew into bowls in front of them.

“Hadvar! We’ve been so worried about you! Come, you two must be hungry. Sit down and get something to eat.”

Presented with the first good meal she’d seen in ages, Loelya mustered all her willpower to wait until Hadvar had lifted his own spoon before she began to eat. She tried to take it slowly but it was hard. The heat from the stew soaked into her, warming her from the inside and soothing the tension in her muscles. Savory venison, tender from the broth and seasoned well with spices and vegetables; the terror from just a few hours previous seemed to melt away. Remembering belatedly where she was, with effort, she focused back on what Hadvar and Alvor were saying in hushed voices above their own bowls.

“Now then boy, what’s the big mystery? What are you doing here looking like you’ve lost an argument with a cave bear?”

She smirked to herself. The cave bear had actually been the _one_ thing they’d managed to avoid…

Hadvar shook his head helplessly as he paused for a moment. “I don’t know where to start. You know I was assigned to General Tullius’ guard. We were stopped in Helgen when we were attacked, by a dragon.” 

She watched the blacksmith’s jaw drop open and he gaped at them in incredulity for a moment, before skepticism crossed his face.

“A dragon? That’s… ridiculous. You aren’t drunk, are you boy?”

Loelya choked on a laugh, Hadvar shot her a good natured glare, and Sigrid rolled her eyes as she chided, “Husband, let him tell his story.”

As Alvor turned to look at Loelya with curiosity, Hadvar answered his aunt; “Not much more to tell. This dragon flew over and just wrecked the whole place. Mass confusion. I don’t know if anyone else got out alive. I doubt I’d made it out myself if not for my friend here. I need to get word to Solitude and let them know what’s happened. I thought you could help us out; food, supplies, a place to stay?”

“Speaking of your friend,” Alvor seemingly changed the subject, “We haven’t been introduced, who is she?”

“Like I said, she saved my life.” Hadvar asserted while Loelya reddened and looked down at the table. “Her name’s Loelya.”

Loelya remembered her manners in time to look up and smile as she reached to shake Alvor’s hand. His palm was rough with manual labor but kind and warm as it enveloped her own. “It’s nice to meet you sir.”

He laughed, and shook his head. “All right, I like her. But don’t bother with that ’sir’ business.” He released her hand and leaned forward on the table. “Any friend of Hadvar’s is a friend of mine, of course. I’d be glad to help in any way that I can.”

Hadvar nodded gratefully. “Thank you uncle. I’ll send a missive out first thing in the morning. But I think I’ll lay up for a while here. Loelya mentioned she’s traveling and looking for work. She’s had some training in smithing; think you might need help around the forge?”

Alvor stroked his beard thoughtfully for a moment. “Not that I’m not willing to take on an apprentice… but-“ and he looked apologetically at them, “If the dragon is loose in skyrim and attacked as closely as Helgen… we’ll need to send out scouts to determine it’s location, and if it’s a threat to us. We should also search Helgen to see if there’s anyone left alive. I was already thinking that I’d ask some men from the village to go out with me at dawn. Besides, even if we believe you, we might need more sightings, more proof, if we’re going to get someone to do something about it. However, I know Hod has been looking for an extra hand around the mill. You could always talk to him.”

While Hadvar was frowning over the idea of sending his friend to work for a known Stormcloak sympathizer, the seriousness of the conversation was suddenly interrupted by a young girl dashing in and bouncing excitedly at Hadvar’s elbow.

“Hadvar! Did you really see a dragon? What did it look like? Did it have big teeth?”

Sigrid’s hands descended gently onto her daughter’s shoulders as she steered the child back to bed. “Hush now, Dorthe, don’t pester your cousin.”

Hadvar laughed and mussed the child’s hair as she grinned cheekily at him. “It’s nice to be back in a friendly spot. I’ll tell you all about it in the morning. For now; I’m beat. He looked over at Loelya and smiled as she blinked sleepily at him. We both are.”

“Well don’t you worry any more about that dragon business tonight.” Sigrid said sternly as she cleared away their empty dishes. “You two just rest for a bit while we set up a place for you to sleep.”

Within the hour, Hadvar had retreated upstairs to the loft and soon, his quiet snores could be heard through the ceiling. Sigrid lent Loelya a soft cotton gown, and the girl was grateful to change out of the oversized armor she’d still had from the Keep in Helgen. Now the house was quiet, and she lay gazing into the flickering fireplace from the pile of furs that had been arranged for her to sleep on. If she managed to find work tomorrow, she could rent a room at the inn. Maybe someday, if she worked hard enough, she’d even be able to save up for a house…

She drifted off, feeling happier and more hopeful than she could ever remember feeling.

.  
…  
…..  
_Darkness_

She wasn’t ready to get up yet, so she turned over to bury her face in the soft furs, hoping to drift off again. But when shallow water splashed her cheek, she jerked away, and felt around frantically for the solid wooden floor of the house. She couldn’t find it.  
She was laying on hard ground, the grooved surface of the stones beneath her filled with puddles. It was so dark she could barely see her own hands in front of her face.

“Hadvar?” She called, growing panicked as she stood, and turned to look in every direction. “ _Hadvar!_ ”

Suddenly there was a tiny hand grasping her own and she looked down, startled.

She couldn’t quite see them, the elusiveness of the dream keeping the child’s face hidden, but she thought she could make out a flash of streaked, dirty hair, a spattering of freckles.  
“Keep going, ‘Elya, you’re almost there.”  
_Elya._ A nickname?  
“I’m so happy for you ‘Elya. I miss you.”

She though maybe she remembered this voice. This child. But it hurt to think about it. Everything hurt.  
_Why does it hurt so much?_

She sucked in a sharp breath and suddenly she was back, the furs cradling her body, sunlight streaming onto her face. Immediately the dream began to fade, but there was someone…  
Loelya looked up and locked gazes with Dorthe, who was looking at her in curiosity.

“Who’s Essie?”

“Essie?” She repeated out loud, her thoughts feeling thick and still slow from sleep.  
“You were saying her name just now.” The child giggled, plopping down beside her. “That’s such a pretty name!”

Loelya tried to think, tried to remember, but whatever familiarity the name evoked was slipping away. She opened her mouth to answer but then forgot what it was she was going to say…

“Oh good! You’re up!” The two of them turned to see Sigrid rising from a chair in the corner, setting her mending aside. “I figured you could use a bit of a lie-in with everything that happened yesterday. Up you get then, and we’ll get you some breakfast. Dorthe dear, go wake you cousin, hmm?”

_I’m so happy for you, ‘Elya. I miss you._

The four of them sat around the table, happily devouring some toasted bread and sliced fruit, while Hadvar made inquiries about the scout party that had left early that morning, while Sigrid did her best to answer.  
“As far as I know, your uncle took Embry, Faendal, and Orgnar with him.”  
“Well, I guess that might put to rest some of the rumors about Faendal. Delphine will have her hands full with the inn.”  
“There’s something about that woman that I can’t quite put my finger on…” Sigrid mused thoughtfully as she pulled a worn, but well-made leather bag down from a shelf. “She always seems like she’s hiding something.”  
Hadvar put down his mug and reached for a slice of cheese. “And you said they’re going to circle the base of the mountain between here and Helgen? That’s what, a week’s trip? With at least a night’s stay in Helgen itself?”  
“They’re well supplied.” His aunt assured him. “They just want to be thorough.”  
“And if they find the dragon?”  
She shrugged. “Then they’ll have more witnesses. If, like you suggested, no one besides you and Loelya-” she nodded at the girl “-made it out alive, they’re going to need more evidence in order to ask for help from the Jarl. Trust me, not even your uncle is rash enough to take on a dragon.”

After Loelya listened quietly to their exchange, she asked, “Where do you suppose the dragon came from? I thought they all died out long ago.”  
The others looked at her and Hadvar coughed uneasily. “Who knows. But if the rebels have gotten ahold of a dragon, we have to get word to the Imperial soldiers in Solitude.”  
“You think the Stormcloaks… somehow managed to use a _dragon_ for their own purposes?” She asked, disbelief plain in her words.  
Her friend looked unsure. “Who can say? But it seems unlikely that it was mere coincidence that a dragon showed up right when Ulfric Stormcloak would have been executed, ending the war. A little too convenient.”  
“How did your soldiers capture him?”  
Hadvar launched into an explanation about how they’d set up the ambush, made him feel too at ease, so that he rode directly into their trap with just a few bodyguards. He carefully avoided mentioning that it was the same ambush she’d been caught in, for which she was grateful. Not that she didn’t trust Sigrid or Dorthe, but she wasn’t eager to have her name cast into question.  
“He surrendered pretty meekly too. So much for his death-or-glory reputation.” Hadvar finished sardonically. 

Their conversation was interrupted as Sigrid placed the leather bag in front of Loelya, who looked up at her in surprise. 

“Is this for me?”  
“Of course.” The woman smiled encouragingly at her. “Think of it as thanks for helping out Hadvar yesterday.”  
“He really did more to help me-“ Loelya tried to say, but Sigrid waved her away.  
“It’s no trouble.”

Hadvar chuckled as Loelya looked inside, saw the meal of bread, cheese, and beef packed neatly inside and watched her eyes widen.  
“Really, it’s no trouble.” He echoed his aunt when the girl opened her mouth to protest. “Besides, you’ll need to keep your strength up if you’re going to be working for Hod.”

After moving her few gold pieces and potions that she’d kept hold of to her new bag and changing into a sturdy belted tunic; a final gift from Sigrid, Loelya followed Hadvar outside and across the small bridge to the mill. Hod was a gruff man but offered to pay her if she chopped firewood for him, so she located an axe and moved to the woodpile while Hadvar sat nearby and watched.

“If you’ve never used a sword I’m willing to bet you’ve never used an axe.” He explained when she raised an eyebrow at him. “Go on then. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Using both hands, she grasped a small log and set it on its end, then gripped the axe and lifted it, but stopped as Hadvar got to his feet, chuckling.

“Looks like I guessed right. You don’t hold an axe the same way you hold a sword.” He said, grasping her wrists and lifting them. “Raise it over your head with both hands and bring it straight down.” He moved away and she did as he’d shown her.  
The axe head sliced into the log with a heavy _thunk_ , but then glanced to one side, only shaving off a corner of the wood and leaving most of it intact. She stared down in vexation as Hadvar began laughing again, and she glared sharply at him.

“Just keep practicing. You’ll get it.” He readjusted the log for her and then left, calling over his shoulder as he did, “When you’re done for the day come back to the forge, I’ll be happy to give you some training.”

The rest of the morning passed in the same frustrating manner. She’d place down a chunk of pine, or oak, or spruce, raise the axe high above her head, and swing down with all her strength. The cuts were lopsided, often incomplete. Sometimes she’d miss entirely and feel her face flush with shame even if no one was watching. She wondered irritably if she should just stick to toy carving.  
Just before noon, she achieved her first even cut; cleaving the log perfectly down the middle. She stopped and grinned widely as the two halves fell apart onto the ground, immensely pleased with the victory, however small it might be. She winced as she grabbed them to add them to her small pile, the blisters on her fingers chafing uncomfortably on the rough bark. Her hands hadn’t exactly been soft to begin with, but working with small knives and hammers wasn’t quite the same as wielding a heavy tool.

She stopped to wash her hands and take a long drink of water, then sat down on the grassy bank to eat. The sun was high overhead but the breeze was cool, and she opened her bag that she’d left sitting underneath the ferns by the bridge.  
Preoccupied with the fresh loaf of bread, thick cheese, and good, salted beef, she didn’t notice that someone had approached until they loudly cleared their throat. Looking up in surprise, she locked gazes with the man she’d seen last night, bickering with his mother when the old woman had spotted the dragon.  
“Can I help you?” She asked in confusion after swallowing quickly.  
“You’re new around here.” The statement was blunt, and without preamble, and she wasn’t quite sure how to respond. He scoffed at her silence and then continued, “Name’s Sven.”  
“I’m Loelya.” She offered, too perplexed to be offended right away. “I just came into town last night.”  
“Well, Loelya, I’m wondering if you might be able to help me with something.”  
“Me? What for?”

He knelt down on the bank beside her with a smirk. “This morning, that elf Faendal left town to accompany the blacksmith to look for that dragon. Nonsense, I say. But it’s definitely given me an opportunity.” He crossed his arms. “I’d be a fool not to take it. You see, there’s a woman here in town, Camilla Valerius. She knows I’m the best man for her, but Faendal thinks he can woo her away from me. She’s already mine I keep telling him. He’s wasting his time.”

“What does any of this have to do with me?” Loelya interjected, as drily as she dared. She wasn’t really interested in getting mixed up in other people’s business, but this man seemed oddly determined.

“I’ve seen him sneaking over to the Riverwood Trader to speak to her when I’m not around, which isn’t a good thing for me. But now that he’s gone, I've had an idea. Take this letter. Say it’s from Faendal. That should get Camilla to stop inviting the elf over.”

He thrust a folded piece of paper into her hands, then climbed to his feet as he said, “There’s some gold in it for you if it works. I’ve noticed you’re trying to earn some money and I thought we could help each other out.” He stalked away, not even glancing back or waiting for an answer.

Thoughts spinning, she sat for a moment in silence fidgeting with the letter, unsure what to do with it. After a few minutes she opened it and skimmed the contents. The brief note was belittling in tone, calmly informing Camilla that while her company was appreciated, she was beneath Faendal because she was not an elf and therefore, would not be welcome as a romantic partner. Appalled, she considered throwing it into the water rushing past at her feet, but then had a better idea.

Sven had mentioned that Camilla was being visited at the Riverwood Trader, so Loelya headed for the general store, ignoring the glances of the other townspeople as she passed. Opening the door quietly and slipping inside, she stopped for a moment to look around.  
The store was dimly lit, but cosy nonetheless. A counter ringed the far corner, and behind it, sat shelves full of foods and potions. Some weapons rested against the wall and atop the counter, and a chest looked to contain more of the same. Most eye-catching, a gold ornament in a peculiar shape rested just in front of the man at the counter.  
To the left of this was a large fireplace with a cooking pot strung in front, a woman tending to it. A small table with two chairs sat to one side.  
“Welcome to the Riverwood Trader!” The man had spotted her, and she turned to look at him. “Feel free to look around, I’m sure we’ve got what you’re looking for.”

Loelya cleared her throat nervously before speaking, “Actually, I’m looking for someone named Camilla?”  
The man scowled and the woman turned around immediately. Hesitantly, Loelya stepped forward, asking, “Are you Camilla?”  
“I am.” The woman answered, just as uncertain. “Who are you?”  
“My name is Loelya. I just came into town last night.” She held out the letter. “I was working at the mill when a man named Sven came by and gave me this. He told me to tell you it was from someone named Faendal.”

Flummoxed, Camilla looked from Loelya, to the letter in her outstretched hand, to the man standing across the room with his arms folded across his chest, and back to the letter before taking and reading it.  
“Oh my… he… he wanted me to think Faendal wrote this?” Camilla’s expression twisted with contempt. “Thank you for telling me the truth. I’m sure he offered you something in exchange for this; no doubt he thought it would be a good opportunity to get help from an outsider. He won’t be welcome here anymore.”

“Of course, anytime.” With a nod, Loelya left the store while Camilla and the man exchanged confused glances.

Her afternoon was marginally better although she still hadn’t quite perfected her axe swing. More often than not, her cuts were still uneven, only occasionally getting two good halves for her efforts. The difficulty was also exacerbated by the fact that her hands were really starting to sting, and no amount of readjusting her grip on the handle seemed to help.  
Finally, with the sun setting on the horizon and the shadows growing longer, she loaded up a small cart with the good pieces she’d managed from the day, and rolled it across the bridge to where Hod was bedding down his animals for the night.  
The smile he gave her, though brief, was approving, and he graciously paid her five septims for each perfectly chopped piece of wood, and three for every near-perfect one. 

She was tired enough to consider going straight to the inn and to bed, but she knew Hadvar would be expecting her. She arrived at the forge, tired and dirty but smiling. Hadvar took one look at her and called off the evening’s lessons.  
“No really, I can-“ she started, but he cut her off.  
“You’re asleep on your feet.” He laughed, patting her shoulder. “Working hard is important, but you don’t have to run yourself down so much, there’s no rush. Go on over to the inn and talk to Delphine, she should be able to set you up with a room for the night.”

She thanked him and walked down the road to the inn. The windows were lit warmly, and smoke rose from the chimney. Once inside, she relaxed in the wave of heat from the huge fire pit dominating the center of the room. A woman with pale blond hair and ice blue eyes was standing behind the counter, and it was to her that Loelya directed her inquiry for a room.  
Ten septims later, and Loelya found herself standing in a smaller room to the side, with a dresser along one wall and a small table on the other. A small but comfortable looking bed sat in the corner, and it was all she could do not to immediately scramble into it.

After removing her bag and placing it beside the bed, she went back out to the counter to buy supper for herself. Slicing a steaming loaf of bread in half, she spread it thickly with butter and cheese and layered it with thinly sliced tomatoes.  
Delphine, with a bemused smile, watched her chew tiredly but happily through the food before asking for the third time, “Are you sure you don’t want something to drink?”  
“Sorry ma’am.” Loelya answered, swallowing the last crumbs. “I’ve never had much taste for spirits.”  
“Mind if I ask how long you’ll be in town? We don’t get many visitors.”  
Loelya considered for a long moment before replying. “I’m not sure. I’m traveling, but do hope to settle in somewhere before too long.”  
“Well, you’ll always be welcome here at the Sleeping Giant.” Delphine assured her with a wink before turning to help another customer. 

Ignoring Sven’s aggrieved frown from across the room, Loelya retreated to her room for the night. She found the same cotton nightgown that Sigrid had lent her the night before folded in the bottom of her bag, and she smiled gratefully to herself as she pulled it on. Applying a bit of beeswax to her blistered palms, she finally laid down in the soft bed and closed her eyes, falling so deeply asleep that she didn’t even dream.


	5. New Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"And suddenly, you know. It's time to start something new and trust the magic of beginnings."_

Surfacing from the comforting darkness of sleep seemed a monumental task, especially as Loelya became aware of the fierce soreness throbbing through the muscles of her back and shoulders.  
She had only briefly given a thought to what she might feel like in the morning the night before, but had drifted off before she could stew over the idea for long. It was _all_ she could think of now of course, wincing as she struggled to climb out of the low bed, every movement painful and a heat rolling over her skin. Inwardly, she castigated herself.  
This was nothing, she knew. In a harsh land like Skyrim, most people would be fortunate if their only worry was a bit of soreness in the mornings after physical labor. If she was going to make it here, she would have to tough it out. 

Loelya flexed her hands, the skin over her palms and knuckles swollen and stiff, and the blisters cracked, began to seep into the cloth strips she’d tied around them.  
_This is nothing. Don’t complain. No matter how much it hurts, it will get better. Just takes time._  
She found her feet unsteadily and stood, gritting her teeth and reaching to pull out her supplies for the day.  
_This is nothing. It will take time before you gain strength enough to do this everyday without strain._

Ignoring the twinges of pain and the feeling of fire across the raw skin of her hands, Loelya sorted through her bag that she’d left on the table the night before, taking inventory.  
An iron sword, a bit dull. Maybe Hadvar would be willing to show her how to sharpen it - would she even need a sword if she didn't get into any more fights? She wasn't planning to. But Skyrim seemed like the kind of place you would carry at least a decent weapon if you were traveling the roads alone...  
A belted tunic, light but also sturdy. Perfect for work, and she shed the cotton nightgown, folding it neatly, in favor of the tunic to pull over her head. Like yesterday though, the sleeves were slightly too long; the hem at the bottom dragged the ground. It had been made for someone taller, someone who didn't stand only as high as a mere child. Maybe she should look to buy another set of clothes if possible.  
Though... she still had the armor. Of Imperial-make, strong and flexible. It sent a statement out to anyone who might look her way, and her fingers tightened over the leather fastenings.  
This wasn't her war. Wasn't her fight. The sooner she made it clear that she had no intention of getting caught up in a national conflict, the better. She felt a flutter in her chest at the thought of telling Hadvar, but he would understand, surely. Besides, it wasn't like she was much of an asset to begin with.  
Maybe the general store salesman would give her a nice sum for the armor, at least.

Loelya put aside the various other pieces of apparel in the bag - bracers, boots, and the helmet - and considered the extent of her more perishable supplies.  
A roll of bread, a wedge of cheese, two apples, and a strip of smoked beef.  
Picking up an iron dagger that was resting on the table, she sliced the bread and one of the apples for breakfast, and was happy to have it despite the slight toughness of the day-old loaf. The cheese, meat, and remaining apple would make a nice lunch. For supper, she could always return to the inn and spend some of her earnings for the day.  
Finally, the potions. And the mage's hood she'd picked up from the keep in Helgen.  
Loelya ran her fingers over the coarse mesh of the fabric, feeling the enchantment prickle against her skin. There was nothing dangerous about it, but it sent a shiver of distrust down her spine. She'd never used magic before; something about it didn't feel... _right._ In fact, she found the idea of the practice deeply unsettling, though she'd be hard-pressed to put a finger on exactly why.

She laid the hood with the armor, along with the two bottles of magika potion. The flasks of stamina and health serums she returned to the bag, then she rewrapped her food and also packed it away. A tiny drawstring pouch held the gold remaining from her previous day's work. Thirty-six septims. More money than she'd ever had in her life.  
Loelya picked up the bag, gathered the hood and armor into her arms and left the room behind. The open hall was silent, most tenants having yet to stir this early in the morning. She moved quietly through the room until she reached the door leading outside, and slipped out, taking a deep breath of the fresh, misty air.  
The morning sun glimmered over the dew-laden branches of the trees that hedged the road, and the light fog that hung low over the river was beginning to drift inwards on the breeze. The scent of smoky hearth fires stood out amidst the otherwise earthy notes of pine and damp soil, but the cobbled stone road that wound through the town was still quiet. No doubt however, it would soon be filled with the noise of people going about their daily business. At least she'd be able to catch the general store right as they opened.

Loelya waited just outside the door, out of the way if it happened to open, but close enough to see when the lamps inside were lit and hear the click of the lock as it turned. She waited another ten minutes for good measure, then cautiously tugged the door open and stepped inside.  
Lucan, she thought she remembered his name being, stood behind the counter, still apparently half-asleep. Camilla stood over the fireplace on the far side of the room, cooking something. Whatever it was, it smelled delicious.

"Feel free to look around!" Lucan called towards her, turning his sister's head as well. "Say, aren't you that girl who came by yesterday, about the letter?"  
"Of course she is, Lucan." Camilla muttered with a faint sigh. "Is your memory really that dim?" She turned to smile faintly at Loelya now, beckoning her forward. "Good to see you again. No more trouble from Sven, I hope?" The woman added with a raised brow, only half-joking.  
Loelya chuckled and shook her head. "Not a bit. I'd say he's not exactly happy though..."  
"Ah, well, good riddance." Camilla fluttered a hand dismissively.

"Can I help you, then?" Lucan, still looking perplexed, leaned over towards her, and Loelya stepped up, placing the items she was carrying on the counter, to the side from the stunning gold ornament that she’d noticed the day before.  
"Pretty nifty, isn't it?" The man was grinning now, eyeing her expression. The piece was clearly something he took pride in. "It's a dragon's claw, solid gold, I might add. It's not for sale though, so don't get any ideas. Really brightens this place up, if I do say so myself."  
"It's beautiful." Loelya told him truthfully, and he smiled again, finally reaching to pull the items she'd laid down a bit closer to inspect them.  
"What do we have here? Some imperial armor - a mage hood! That's a pretty nice enchantment there... and magika potions? Where did you get all of this, girl?"  
"Oh, um..." Loelya hesitated. She wasn't sure how much about the dragon attack should be public knowledge, at least until Alvor and the others returned from their search.  
"Oh leave the girl alone." Camilla snapped, and Lucan blinked in surprise. "She's clearly not from around here. Same as us, I might add." The woman paused to give her a small smile. "She came into town with Hadvar, I don't think he'd appreciate the implication that he'd bring a criminal to Riverwood, do you?"  
"Yeah, alright, I get it." Lucan heaved a sigh and returned to examining the items that Loelya had given him. "Let's see... I can give you 125 septims for the lot."

Loelya couldn’t help it, her jaw dropped and she stared at Lucan in disbelief. Misinterpreting her wide eyes, he scowled at her, prepared to knock her down a few pegs if she was about to argue.  
“Is there a problem? Because I’m sure-“  
“No, not at all!” Loelya hurried to assure him. “I didn’t think- I didn’t know how much they were worth… That’s-“ She stopped, falling silent abruptly. She wasn’t quite sure she wanted these people to know that she used to be a caravan servant, with nary a septim to her name.  
Lucan blinked at her for a moment before shrugging casually. “Well, suit yourself. 125 septims it is.”  
He counted out the gold and slid it across the counter to her, turning to put away the items in their proper inventory boxes. Hardly daring to breathe, Loelya scooped the coins into her drawstring pouch and retied it at her hip. But then, on a second thought, she looked behind Lucan to the shelves of supplies. He followed her gaze and grinned.  
“Want to do a bit of shopping after all?”

~

Loelya raised the axe above her head, and brought it down into the log with a hefty _thwack._ The two halves of the log beneath the blade split apart and she smiled broadly even as she took a moment to catch her breath. She was already exhausted, and it wasn’t even noon.  
Still, she was achieving far more even cuts of wood than she had yesterday. She stooped to pick up the freshly-cut firewood and added it to her pile, grateful for the light sleeves of the dress she was wearing, as they didn’t catch around her wrists the way the tunic had.  
It was made for a child, Lucan had informed her with a barely-stifled laugh, as Camilla shot her brother a glare. But “made for a child” probably meant it would fit her. And it did, and not having to trip over the hem of her clothes already made the tasks ahead of her for today seem less daunting.

She’d stubbornly held onto that optimism, refusing to give into the stinging cuts and blisters on her hands, even as the day wore on and the sun rose higher, the tie in her hair slowly coming loose and small strands sticking to her neck with sweat.  
As she’d worked though, the soreness in her muscles had begun to ease. She paused now to gather up her hair again, and stumble over to the riverbank for a long drink of water. Cold and clear, it quenched her thirst, and she splashed a little on her face to cool off from the mild heat. And to think, just a day’s journey from here, one would be high enough in the mountains to have to trudge through snow. 

She was squinting towards the sun for the third time in no more than an hour, wondering if it was reasonably late enough to take a break for lunch, when a glad shout from across the bridge caught her attention.  
Hadvar was walking towards her, a hand raised in greeting. When he was close enough to see her face, he laughed aloud.  
“You’re a hard worker, but you look a right mess if I dare say.”  
Loelya pushed her hair back from her sweaty forehead and tried to frown, but it was hard to be cross when he’d just complimented her, however backhanded it had been. She’d just opened her mouth to respond when he scowled and took her wrist, turning her palm up to the light.  
“By the Eight… what have you been doing to your hands, lass?”  
“Nothing!” She squeaked, tugging on his grip in an effort to pull away, but he held her firm. He could guess that this was a result of handling unfamiliar tools.  
“Don’t you still have those healing potions?” He raised an eyebrow at the lacerations in her skin.  
She frowned in confusion. “What does that have to do with- I thought healing potions were used to treat wounds?”

Hadvar sighed, released her, and rolled his eyes. “You only down a _whole_ bottle if you’ve been badly injured. A sip or two would save a lot of trouble, especially as I’m sure you’re terribly sore, as well.”  
“It’s nothing.” Loelya protested stubbornly, her chin lifted in determination. “This is nothing compared to what real mill work must be like… or even blacksmithing. If I can’t even chop firewood without getting discouraged by a few blisters…”  
As she trailed off, Hadvar shook his head. “You really aren’t one to complain much, are you? Look, just take my word for it, alright? Take a sip of the potion. Make it easier on yourself. There’s no reason not to. And might as well have some lunch, while you’re at it.”

Without waiting for an invitation, Hadvar crouched to sit on the grassy knoll where she’d left her bag, and pulled out a tightly wrapped cloth with his own meal, digging in and looking up at her expectantly, his mouth full. At a loss for any kind of argument, she joined him, settling onto the soft ground and pulling out a potion, obediently taking a sip, more to please him than anything else.  
The taste startled her, oddly floral with a strange metallic aftertaste, but she swallowed a mouthful and then gasped in surprise. She could swear she saw a glow in her skin, and then the blisters and cuts smoothed and vanished, along with a great deal of the fiery sting that had accompanied them.  
“Catching flies?” Hadvar teased with another short laugh, watching her turn her hands over again and again, mouth open, struggling with the concept of instant healing. Her jaw snapped shut and she gave him a reproachful look.  
“Lunch.” He insisted, nudging her bag, and that seemed to distract her well enough. She opened the clasp, pulling out a small bundle that she untied and laid in her lap. It looked a scarce amount of food for a meal; just a wedge of cheese, an apple, and few ounces of beef, but she seemed happy with it.

“Look, I was actually coming over here to ask if you wanted to come by the forge this afternoon, and do some training with me like we’d talked about?”  
Loelya hesitated before answering, her tone uncertain. “Are you sure it’s alright? I don’t want to cause you any trouble…”  
“Nonsense. I’d _like_ to have some help while my uncle is away. And forget Hod, if that’s what you’re worried about. He can chop his own firewood if he’s in desperate need of it. Looks like you’ve given him a nice head start, anyways.” Hadvar eyed her pile of wood, and she felt a glimmer of pride.  
“I’d like to learn, too. How to smith, I mean. I know how helpful of a skill it would be to have, especially if I’m going to strike out on my own eventually. Thank you, Hadvar.” She met his gaze with a sincere gratitude, and he coughed uncomfortably and looked away.  
“Don’t mention it. Finish up here and meet me back at the forge in an hour. I want to see whatever you know already, and we can go from there.”

When Loelya had carted her pile of wood over to Hod, and he’d paid her for the morning’s work - another thirty septims - she headed to the forge, sleeves pushed up and rearing to go. Hadvar smiled as he greeted her, equal parts amused and approving, before running through some beginner’s lessons and finding himself encouraged by her skill. A novice she might be, but she certainly had the basics down.  
She then showed him her carving, how she could whittle a handle from a block of wood in half the time he’d even seen his uncle manage such a feat, and he didn’t bother to hide how impressed he was, though he dampened it a bit by giving her hair a friendly tug, unraveling it from its tie. This earned him a glare and he laughed as he watched her pin it up again in a huff.  
They spent the rest of the afternoon on a lesson about smithing daggers, and though her first few attempts turned out rather mangled, she managed a well-crafted blade by the end of the day, and even learned to sharpen it, along with the sword she’d still held on to from Helgen.  
She admitted, nervously at first, that she’d decided not to go to Solitude. It wasn’t her war, she insisted. And though he might be a bit disappointed, he didn’t want to push too hard. Maybe someday she’d change her mind. For now though, he assuaged her worries with a few kind words, and the resulting grateful smile she gave him convinced him he’d said the right things.

Sigrid brought them bowls of stew just as the sun was setting, casting shades of deep purples and reds across the lofted clouds. Loelya scooped up a spoonful of the rich meats and vegetables, blowing on the steam rising from the surface. The first mouthful tasted so good that she was halfway through the meal before she noticed the odd silence hanging in the air and looked up at Hadvar again, who was stirring his meal quietly.  
“Hey.” She started helpfully, grimacing as the clumsy word left her lips. “Is something wrong? Your food’s going to get cold…”

Hadvar chuckled and shook his head. “It’s nothing. Or, well, it shouldn’t be. It’s just that I’ve been hearing some murmurings around town about my uncle and the search party. No one really quite believes there’s a dragon out there, and all kinds of things are flying around about what they’re really up to. Suspicion about the war, mostly, I would say. But there are both Imperial and Stormcloak sympathizers in this town, and no one really feels they can trust anyone anymore. So I kind of worry that things might get heated around here while we’re waiting for them to get back. A week is a long time to let suspicions fester.”

Loelya looked down and crammed another mouthful of stew into her cheeks to stall for time in thinking of what to say. She couldn’t really imagine what that must be like; once-trusted neighbors suddenly feeling like a threat lurking behind every corner. She’d never really had neighbors to rely on before, but she could guess the sense of betrayal was just another wound for Skyrim’s people.  
“Well.” She said, after she’d swallowed and taken a swig of water from her canteen. “When they come back, if they found the proof they were looking for, everyone will know that no matter what’s going on out there-“ Loelya waved her spoon towards the countryside that stretched for miles across the river, “- it doesn’t keep them from looking out for their own. They went out to search, putting themselves in danger, so that Riverwood could get the help it needs if there’s a threat to those who live here. That’s got to count for something, right?”

Hadvar smirked and glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, finally taking a bite of his food and chewing slowly.  
“I hope you’re right.”  
They ate in companionable silence for a little while until their bowls were empty and Hadvar pulled out a block of wood to whittle, taking some pointers from Loelya for a change and she felt helpful being able to offer them. When the stars began to emerge, he looked towards her and gave her a nudge, seeing that her eyelids were drooping.  
“So, I heard that you gave Sven a bit of grief yesterday.”

She immediately scowled and he had to laugh at the look on her face.  
“He wanted me to lie for him; I wasn’t comfortable with that. Besides, how would I have come up with something convincing enough? Faendal left with the search party, how was I supposed to claim I got the letter from him? As soon as he got back, the truth would have come out, Camilla would have gotten the worst end of everything, and I’d be known for stirring up trouble that doesn’t even concern me. At least this way, the only one angry with me is Sven. Not that I really care much, to be honest.”  
Hadvar laughed again. “You’ve got a pretty thick skin, y’know? Never would guess it by looking at you.”  
She yawned and shrugged a little, a smile in her eyes. “Isn’t there a saying about how appearances can be deceiving?”  
“In any case, Faendal will probably want to thank you when he gets back. If you ask him, he might be able to give you some archery training.”

At that, Loelya quirked a brow at Hadvar, and he nodded.  
“Yeah, the elf is a real marksman. And I’m willing to bet you’re not too shabby with a bow yourself. You were ready to shoot that bear back in Helgen pretty quick.”  
“I didn’t though. Got the feeling you were testing me.”  
“I was.”  
“I knew it!” She snorted. “Even if I’d gotten in a good shot, one arrow from a long bow isn’t gonna bring down a bear. I’ve never even hunted large animals anyways; all my kills have been things like birds and rabbits. I’d definitely love to get some real training, though. If you really think he’d be willing, I probably will ask Faendal about it when he gets back.”  
“With some archery under your belt, some training here at the forge with my uncle, and the strength you’ll build up from swinging that axe everyday, you’ll soon have quite the footing here in Skyrim.” Hadvar turned his head towards her, something unreadable in his eyes. “Do you have any idea what your long term plans will be?”

Loelya sighed a little, puffing at a strand of hair over her eye. “I’m really not sure. So much has changed so quickly. Working every day, staying at the inn, training what little skills I have - I know it seems like nothing, but it’s actually a better life than I could have had anywhere else. But I suppose I would like to get a real place to live someday. Get stronger, learn how to fight if I need to. Traveling seems like fun, sure, but with everything that’s happened in such a short time, I really don’t mind staying put for a while. Finding stability, I guess. Just taking things as they come.”

Hadvar nodded slowly. She had mentioned at several points before that she had traveled with a caravan, and when one looked at the evidence of the rags she had worn and her penniless pockets, he knew she must have lived a servant’s life. Wasted on that, she was. He still hoped her fighting spirit might lead her to join the Imperial Legion someday, but she’d told him more than once now that it wasn’t her war to fight, and he wasn’t going to push the issue anymore, not for a while at least. Stability was a good thing to work towards, for now. 

“Hey.” She said softly after a moment of silence and Hadvar glanced towards her curiously. “I wanted to thank you. You know, for all that you’re doing to help me. I’d have been dead back in Helgen without your help and then you,” she smiled, “-and your family, you’ve done so much just to help me out. Supplies, helping me find work, teaching me.” Her eyes rose to meet his and though she was still smiling, there was a seriousness that lingered there. “You didn’t have to do any of that. So, thank you. I hope someday I can return the kindness you’ve shown me.”

The man looked back at her quietly for a moment, a breath hung frozen in the air between them, then he shrugged and chuckled and the moment was over.  
“Hey, don’t mention it. You had my back too, in Helgen, don’t forget. And it’s really no trouble at all, so don’t worry about it. We’re happy to help.” He smiled wider as she yawned again. “You’re gonna fall over any minute now. You’d best get some sleep. It’ll be back to wood chopping and forge working again tomorrow.”  
“Yeah, you’re probably right.” She mumbled sleepily, climbing to her feet and letting down her sleeves that she’d tied up to work with the forge. “See you tomorrow?”  
“Bright and early.” He watched her walk away towards the inn, and she turned around and glanced back his way just before the door shut behind her.

A week passed. Loelya settled into life in Riverwood almost seamlessly, the peaceful village welcoming her in its own way, caring little about her past and holding no grievances beyond the daily soreness of hard labor. After a couple of days, Sven stopped shooting her angry glances whenever he was nearby and saved his grumbling for his mother’s near-deaf ears, and for the most part she got along well with the other villagers in town.  
Camilla became a rather fast friend, and although her brother Lucan seemed to think she was a bit odd, he was pleasant to her and was happy to trade an apple or two, or a tomato, or a bit of cheese for the flowers she picked when she took walks outside of town. Loelya took to stopping by the general store once each afternoon between her work at the mill and her lessons with Hadvar at the forge. The bits of food served as a hearty snack at midday, and Camilla assured her that Lucan wasn’t just humoring her, the flowers and thistle were good for alchemy, and the potions brought in a fair few septims apiece. She even pointed the girl towards the potionry table in the inn one night, explaining how potions were made and laughing it off easily when Loelya completely botched her first attempt. She laughed too, but left it alone after that. She was better at smithing, anyways.

Despite her work with Hadvar at the forge, Hod was no more gruff to her than he was to anyone else in town, and seemed to appreciate her dedication to the wood chopping she did for him every morning. The money she made from the work gave her room and board at the inn every night and paid for her meals, and the physical exertion was building her strength rather quickly. The axe got easier to swing, the cart, easier to push.  
She washed her hair in the river every other evening and splashed her face to cool off when it grew hot in the afternoons. She soon found banks thick with salmon and began to string traps with bits of meat as bait. When she came back to them after several hours of other chores, she would find the baskets heavy with fresh, wriggling fish, and ate what she could and sold the rest. She brought an especially large catch to a delighted Sigrid as a way of thanking the woman for all her help.

A week passed, and Alvor and the others did not return.


End file.
